


For a While I Heard You Missing Steps In the Street

by Chash



Series: Charity Drive 2017 [20]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 08:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy knows the witch. Everyone knows the witch. People go to her when they need help. And she comes to his shop, once a week, without fail, so they're kind of acquaintances.He still wasn't expecting her to show up and askhimfor a favor. That's not how witches work.





	For a While I Heard You Missing Steps In the Street

**Author's Note:**

> Charity fill for [braverybros](http://braverybros.tumblr.com/)! Based on [this post](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/159150013002/the-girl-that-everyone-knows-but-never-talks-to-is).

It's not Bellamy's first time meeting the witch. He knows her in the way everyone knows her, as the girl who lives on the edge of town and performs miracles at a price. But she's also, well, a person. He sees her sometimes at the market, and at town meetings. And, last year, she started coming into his shop once a week, every week, to get repairs done on her clothing, or to commission something new. He could set his clock by her coming in: 11:48, Thursday morning, always and without fail. Apparently, she likes schedules.

So when she shows up on a Friday afternoon, that's a few steps beyond unexpected. It's actually _alarming_.

"I'm closing in a few minutes," he says. "But if there's something quick you need, I can help you."

"Not exactly." She worries her lip. "I need a favor."

His eyebrows shoot up. The witch doesn't ask for favors. She grants them. "A favor? From me?"

"It's important," she says. "Or--I guess not very important, to most people. But it matters a lot to me. And I think it will benefit you too."

He folds his arms over his chest. "You know, you'd be a lot better off if you stopped being cryptic and told me what you wanted."

Her mouth tugs up in half a smile. "Unfortunately, there's only so much I can tell you. I have an errand to run. I need someone's help to complete it. If you come, I can restore the memories I took from you."

It's as if someone poured a bucket of cold water on him, the sudden, freezing shock of it. The witch is still watching him, gauging his reaction, but she's not surprised. Of course, she'd know that he doesn't have the memories. She'd know he doesn't remember losing them.

"I made a deal with you," he says, slow.

"You made a deal with me," she confirms. 

"My sister?"

"She was injured, badly. She was dead, by the time we got to her. You agreed to give up--" Her voice catches. "The memories of your most precious person. To save her. To get her back."

It was making sense, up until then. "That would have been her. My sister. Those are the memories I would have lost."

The witch shrugs. "Apparently not. You lost someone else."

It's so _huge_. It doesn't feel possible, that there could be someone more important than Octavia, carved out of his life. How could he even forget a whole person? What does that even mean?

"And if I come with you, I'll get them back," he says. He chews his lip. "Why should I believe you? Any of this? I don't even remember her getting hurt. I don't remember going to you for help."

"I can't prove any of it," says the witch. "That's not how it works. When I take memories, the memory of the spell always goes too. Otherwise you'd know what you lost. But--I need your help. If you aren't satisfied with the memories, I'll pay you when we get back. On my honor."

"I want that in writing," he says. "Your honor isn't worth much. No offense."

She smiles. "None taken. I'm sure we can come up with an agreeable sum."

She's the one who writes up the contract, and he signs it, and he can't help wondering at what point he _agreed_ to this. Of course he never minds helping people in need, but he doesn't even know what he's agreed to. He doesn't know anything.

He doesn't even know what he's supposed to be getting back. It's unthinkable, _impossible_. He couldn't have just forgotten someone who mattered so much.

"What about O?" he asks. "If I get my memories back, will she--"

"Nothing will happen to her. I'm sure of it. I would never--" She cuts herself off, biting her lip, and then she meets his eyes. He doesn't look her in the eyes very often, but that's when she feels like a witch. Her gaze is fierce and blue and endless. "I don't like taking memories. That's why I want to give yours back. But I wouldn't do that if it would undo the spell, or if it would threaten your sister. It was a powerful spell with a powerful price. But the price is paid. This won't unpay it. I promise, Bellamy."

It shouldn't mean anything, her promise. A year of visits doesn't build trust. But she _is_ the witch, and everyone knows that if you need something, you can go to the witch, and she'll help.

Even if he didn't go to her for Octavia, even if that's a lie, she wouldn't be coming to him if it wasn't important. If it wouldn't help people.

And she came to him.

"I don't even know your name," he admits.

Something in her smile makes his heart lurch. Probably a lot of people don't bother to learn it. He can't be the only one. But he feels bad for never having tried before.

"Clarke," she says. "I'm Clarke."

*

She says she'll come at dawn, with horses, and Bellamy gets to go home and tell his sister he's leaving on a trip with the witch for a few days.

"Why does the witch need you?" she asks, making a face, and Bellamy doesn't really know what to say.

"She needs help, and I owe her. Apparently she saved you once," he finally says. "We don't remember it."

"She saved me?"

He can't blame her for her dubious tone. Clarke said his sister had _died_ , and he can't quite believe it himself. Not when she's here, alive and vibrant. _Fine_. She's fine, and he didn't even know he lost her.

He'll do anything Clarke asks. He owes her. He'll never stop owing her. He'd go anywhere.

"That's what she told me. I guess part of the deal was that we wouldn't remember." He wets his lips, not sure what to say about the other memories. Would Octavia be pissed, that she wasn't the person he lost? If there was someone else who mattered so much to him, his sister must have known them too. Maybe it was his mother. Maybe she's alive somewhere, and his whole memory of her has been altered. Maybe she wasn't like he remembers at all. "Anyway. She needs help, and she'll pay me if she needs to, so--you can watch the shop while I'm gone. She said it would only take a few days."

"She could be lying," Octavia says.

"She could be," he agrees. "I don't really care if she is. She helps people. Everyone knows that. If she needs me, I'll go with her."

But it nags at him as he and Clarke set out the next morning. Not that Clarke might be lying, but the logistics of the whole thing. So once they're on their way, he says, "Can I ask about it?"

Clarke glances at back at him, smiling a little. She's dressed sensibly, dark riding clothes and a hood over her bright hair. She doesn't look like a witch at all. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"Everything," he says. "But I was going to start with what happened to my sister."

"You can ask," says Clarke. "I'll answer everything I can, but--there are things I can't say."

"Because it puts O at risk?"

"There are rules," she says.

"Huh." He clears his throat. "So--she died."

"Only barely."

That makes him smile a little. "How do you barely die?"

"It was just for a minute. She stopped breathing. I told you how to start her breathing again, but--that's why the price was so high. Her heart stopped. Just because you started it again, the magic doesn't forget."

"What would the price have been otherwise?"

She worries her lip. "It's hard to be sure. It's just--I find the price, I don't set it. Childhood memories, probably. It's usually memories, for that."

"And O's memories went too," he says. "She doesn't know I forgot anyone."

She's quiet for a long minute, thinking it over. "What you give up is a relationship. It's easiest to say you're the one giving it up, because you're the--the trigger. If you get the memory back, everyone does. But it's a ripple. Your sister forgets she knew the person. Other people in town forget they've seen you together."

"The person I forgot forgets they know me."

"That's how it generally works."

"That's good."

"Good?" Clarke asks.

He shrugs. "I was sort of thinking everyone knew but me, and there was a town-wide conspiracy to keep me from remembering. And--I guess whoever it was probably cared about me too. It would suck if they were--I don't know. If they missed me."

"You asked about that," she admits, soft. "You asked if Octavia would remember you, after, and you'd just forget her. You were worried."

"Guess I didn't have to be." He wets his lips. "Okay, so--what are we doing now?"

"Now?"

"This thing I'm helping with. All I know is we're going to a temple."

Clarke nods. "It's an old cleric's temple. The inner sanctum is full of all sorts of cures. But it requires two people to get to. Someone suffering from a curse, and someone suffering from a broken heart. If they go through the temple together, the curse will be lifted."

"What about the broken heart?" he asks.

"The heart stays broken. But there's a plant at the center of the temple I need for potions, and the only way to reach it is to complete the trials."

"Trials?"

She flashes him a grin. "They sound worse than they are."

"Have you done this before?"

"No. I only just found out how to get there. But I read a lot about it. To make sure--I wouldn't want you to get hurt for a stupid plant. But since you'll benefit too--"

"So, I'm cursed?" he asks. "Is this a curse?"

"It's a curse. I know it probably doesn't feel like that, but--" She huffs. "Sorry, do you want a lecture about how magic works?"

"I'm not doing anything else, right?"

Clarke ducks her head, smiling, lip caught in her teeth. She's not how he expected, honestly, shy and a little quiet, nervous like she's always waiting for him to tell her he's not interested in what she has to say.

He should have tried to get to know her sooner. Maybe he still has time.

"All right, so--magic is all about balance. Something good for something bad. We use the words _blessing_ and _curse_ when those things are done to people. I know what you think of as a curse is--a punishment. Or some wronged sorcerer seeking revenge. But it's not always like that. You wanted something good, so you accepted something bad happening to you."

"So, what's the balance for breaking the curse?" he asks. "Why isn't that going to make something bad happen in the world?"

"Because breaking a curse isn't _good_. That's the problem with--language, I guess."

"Sure, blame language," he teases, and she smiles. 

"Your transaction is done. But you're still--you're still suffering, in a way that your sister isn't _benefiting_." She huffs. "It's hard to explain. But breaking a curse is--it's more like regaining balance, I guess. It's not in balance for you to be cursed. We build up positive magic completing tasks, and then, once there's enough, the curse evaporates. That's how the temple works."

"Huh. But--your heart won't get any more broken?"

"What?"

"I assume that's you. Heartbreak."

She looks down. "That's me."

"I don't want that to get worse. It's not like--I don't feel cursed. I'm not suffering. So you shouldn't have to--I don't know. I get that you feel guilty, but you shouldn't make your life worse to help me."

"Very noble," she teases. "Don't worry, I'm not making my life worse just for you. There was a price, you paid it. But I hate that price. And someone else might have to pay it again some day, so--this way I'll know. If it works. And I get some rare materials I need. So you're helping me, and my life isn't getting worse." Her smile is soft. "But thanks for worrying."

"Well, like I said. My life is going fine right now. If we could just fix one, I'd pick your broken heart."

"It doesn't work like that," she says. "But thank you."

*

"So, how do you become a witch?"

They've stopped to eat lunch, after a few hours of riding in mostly silence. Bellamy doesn't mind silence, mostly, but it feels like a waste to not talk to Clarke while he has her. She's interesting. And, if he's honest, he's a little curious about the heartbreak. Maybe it's unfair, but he always assumed witches didn't get their hearts broken. Of course they have hearts, but--not _romantic_ hearts. 

But he's starting to think he doesn't know much about real witches.

"How do you become a tailor?"

"My mother was a seamstress and when she died I took on the shop. But we didn't have a witch before you, so you didn't just inherit it."

"No. Someone, at some point in your family line, must have started sewing and realized they were good at it."

"I guess," he agrees. "So, you just started witching?"

She laughs, ducking her head. She always seems embarrassed to be happy; he doesn't know why. Maybe it's a side effect of being a witch. "That's not really the preferred terminology."

"Which is?"

"Practicing witchcraft."

"I'm going to stick with witching."

"Of course you are." She clears her throat. "It was when I was young. Four or five. My friend tripped and fell and scraped his leg, and I just knew how to fix it."

"How?"

"I put my hand over it and gave him a bruise on his arm. The gash closed up." She shifts a little, uncomfortable. "He told me I was a monster and we stopped being friends. It turns out when you have to hurt people to help them, the hurt has to be a little worse before they want the help."

"I'd rather be bruised than bleeding," he says. 

"Most people would. But it's hard to think about that like that. You don't come to the witch to get hurt in a different way. Not for something small. So I learned little healing, not magic, and a lot of it--" She looks down at her food. "Most of being a witch is not using magic."

"Is that what this plant is for?"

"Potions. Those are easier."

"What's the price for that?"

Clarke considers, and then rolls up her sleeve, showing a pattern of bruises marbling her arm. "That's the easiest for me," she says, and flinches a little when he tries to touch her. He hadn't even realized he was reaching out, and he pulls his hand back at once.

"Sorry. I just--does it hurt?"

"When it happens," she says. "Like someone is grabbing my arm. But they fade pretty quickly." 

"Fuck," he says. "You shouldn't have to do that to yourself."

"It's really not that bad. I'll do it once a month, to enchant potions, and then it's done. You just caught me right after."

"Still." He can't take his eyes off the purpled skin. "Can someone else do it?"

"Do what?"

"If I came over, could you give half the bruises to me?"

She doesn't respond for so long that he worries he's said something horribly offensive. But when he looks up, she's still smiling. Just a little. Soft, like always.

"If you want to, after this."

"You think I'm going to stop wanting to?" he asks, surprised.

Another pause, and she can't keep her eyes on him. "No. I hope not."

*

The afternoon ride is better. They chat about Clarke's family, how they felt when she found out she was a witch, why she decided she had to leave them behind and start somewhere new. He tells her about his mother, and her leaving his father, about taking care of his sister as he was growing up, and he can't help feeling, the whole time, like he was missing something, not befriending her. He remembers being curious about the witch, when she showed up. He should have tried to get to know her.

She catches two rabbits for dinner, and Bellamy cleans and cooks them, and once the two of them have eaten and are full and stretched out on the ground, ready for sleep sleep, he finally asks, "How did you get your heart broken?"

"The same way everyone does. I fell in love, and it didn't work out."

"Huh."

"Sorry, what were you expecting?"

"I don't know. You're a witch. Shouldn't it be dramatic? I feel like a curse should be involved."

"You _have_ a curse. You should know they aren't always dramatic."

"Hey, it sounds like it was dramatic, I just don't remember it."

There's a pause, and then she lets out a shaky breath. "You're right, it was--it was bad."

"I guess I must never have thanked you," he realizes. "If I lost my memories after."

"You thanked me before." He can hear a smile creeping into her voice. "Repeatedly. I had to tell you to stop thanking me so I could get to work."

"That sounds like how it would go. Still--thanks. Again."

"You're welcome," she says. "I'm glad I could save her." 

"Me too."

He wants to say more, to not just let her go yet, but he doesn't have anything else _to_ say. He just wants to keep talking.

But Clarke must not, because, "You should get some sleep. We have the trials in the morning."

"I should," he agrees. "Better get rid of this curse I didn't know I had."

"You don't want to?" she asks, sounding almost offended.

He rubs his face, staring up at the stars. "I do want to know what I lost," he admits. "But--fuck, it doesn't sound real. I can't believe there was anyone I cared about more than my sister, and then I just--" His voice fails him as he tries to find the words. "I know it's magic, but it still seems totally impossible. And what happens if I get them back? Do they remember me? Do we just--fuck. It sounds so weird."

"I guess it must." There's a long pause. "You don't have to. I don't need the plant that much. If you don't want the memories back--"

"Do you think I want them?"

Given how often she hesitates, the swiftness of her reply is a comfort. "Yes. I think you do."

He still has no logical reason to trust her. None at all. But he does. "Thanks. Goodnight, Clarke."

"Goodnight."

*

The trials really aren't so bad. The two of them have to figure out how to navigate the temple, but it doesn't feel _dangerous_. Clarke says it's not supposed to hurt them, just prove their worthiness, and the steps are laid out to generate--good energy. Something like that. The positive magic needed to break his curse. She's the expert, so he just takes her word for it.

And, honestly, he's enjoying himself. They're the kind of puzzles he's encountered in stories, riddles set in stone. It takes them a few tries to learn the visual language, but once they do, it's straight-forward, hitting tiles in the right order, choosing the correct door, using logic and reason to find answers.

"As trials go, this doesn't seem so bad," he says, and Clarke shoots him a glare.

"You can't say stuff like that! It's bad luck."

"If the next one is a pit full of jagged spikes, I'll go first," he tells her, magnanimous, and she snorts.

"It's the least you can do."

But despite his best efforts to jinx it, the trials don't get any more threatening. The worst part is coordinating, when they both have to do something at the exact same time, but as long as Bellamy doesn't think about it too much, even that isn't hard. They're such a natural team that it startles him, when he focuses on it, but when he doesn't, they just flow together.

And then, before he knows it, they're at the center of the temple, standing in front of a pair of great doors. There are words above them in an ornate script he doesn't know, and Clarke's the one who supplies the translation. "Curse breaker."

"So, this is for me?"

Clarke nods. It's jerky, and she looks absurdly nervous. "You open it, and, according to my research, the pure air of the inner sanctum will blow the curse away."

"Poetic." He wets his lips. "You know this isn't your fault, right? The curse. I asked for it. If this doesn't work, you don't have to feel bad. Even if it does--you didn't do anything wrong."

"I know I didn't." She gives him a gentle shove. "Open the door, Bellamy."

Now that he's here, it feels dangerous. It feels like some trap, like Clarke shouldn't want him to do this so much. She cares, and he doesn't understand _why_ , and maybe when he opens the door, it's going to do something awful. Maybe _curse breaker_ isn't really what it says. Maybe this whole thing is some game she's playing with him, and he's really about to get cursed. He still has no reason to trust her. He's _never_ had a reason to trust her. 

But he's come this far trusting her. He still _wants_ to trust her.

"If this kills me, I'm going to haunt you," he says, and opens the door.

*

It's Clarke.

Clarke, who wandered into his shop the first week after she moved, before he knew who she was. Clarke, whom he teased because she was so bad at mending, who stayed after close to watch him work. Clarke, who picked him as her friend right from the start, whom he visited when he was free, who showed him her potions and spells, answered all his questions before. All those conversations they had, they'd had before. He was always curious, and she always told him.

He would go over when she was making her potions, and take half the bruises she had to dole out to work the magic. He would have taken all of them, if she let him.

He'd known he was fond of her, before this happened. He even knew he wanted her. When Octavia was hurt, he was already struggling against his desire to kiss her all the time. To tell her how he really felt.

But he didn't think she could be what he'd lose. It didn't even occur to him. She told him the price, and he would have paid anything, but it just made so much _sense_ , that it would be Octavia he lost. It was so perfect. He'd save his sister and never know he'd done it. She'd never even know he existed.

"Will you still remember?" he asked Clarke. "Or do you forget like everyone else?"

She was preparing, grabbing supplies, and didn't stop to answer him. He knew she wouldn't. She knows how important this is. "No, I'll remember. Witches don't forget."

"Do you know that from experience?"

"I've only had to do it once, and it wasn't--it was a small memory. Not a whole person. But there are ways to reverse it. I won't be able to tell you what you lost, or that I'm trying to fix it, and it might take a while for me to figure it out, but--"

"I won't know what I'm missing, right?" he asked, with a ghost of a smile, and Clarke shook her head, her smile fond.

"No, you won't. Now shut up and let me work."

And he did. He thanked her, like she said, thanked her until she told him to stop, and when they got to Octavia, her heart had stopped, just like Clarke said. He breathed life back into her lungs, and as soon as she was alive again, Clarke was there to perform the spell.

And then, his sister opened her eyes, and Clarke was gone.

*

When Bellamy opens his own eyes, he's still in the temple. Clarke is watching him, and the new memories slot in with the old, a year of Clarke coming into his store, talking to him for five minutes, seeing him once a week and knowing she was the most precious thing in his world and he might never remember that. 

He didn't even know her _name_.

"Clarke," he croaks, and he doesn't know what else to say. It's too much. He doesn't know how to make this better.

"How do you feel?" she asks, tentative, almost terrified.

"Fucking _shitty_ ," he says. "I forgot your _name_."

The sound she lets out is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she throws herself into his arms, burying her face against his neck. She's probably crying, and all he can do is hold her.

But that seems to be all she wants.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "I didn't even--I should have known. That you'd be what I lost."

"It doesn't matter," she says, muffled against his skin. "Not--the price didn't matter."

He strokes her back, nuzzles her hair. It hasn't really been a year for him, not like it has been for her. But it's still been a year without his favorite person, even if he didn't realize it until now.

"And I could have looked at the translation harder. It's--I guess _precious_ isn't wrong, but it's not all of it. It's not about love, it's about--it's the memories that make you happiest, I guess. The ones that--"

"I know what it means," he tells her. "Trust me, I know exactly what it means."

"I would have warned you, but it wouldn't have mattered. You had to do it, and I still would have found a way to--"

"I did, and you would," he agrees. "But I would have kissed you first." He'd be nervous, but--he broke her heart. The least he can do now is try to repair it.

Clarke's laugh is a little watery, but he can feel her smile pressed against his neck.

"You can kiss me now," she says, nudging her nose against his neck. "It's not too late."

So he does.

*

"So, you really care about this plant?" Bellamy asks. So far, he's kissed her breathless, told her how much he loved her until the words stopped sounding real, and failed to apologize because she'd kiss him every time he tried. Which didn't stop him trying, but actually getting the apology out stopped being his goal pretty quickly. 

Now he's ready to get whatever she needs and go home. He's looking forward to trying out kissing in her bed. For a start.

"It's not really nearly as rare or exciting as I told you," she says, cutting off a few sprigs of something green and vibrant. "I can buy it in the Polis market for a penny a bundle. It's good dried so I might as well get as much as I can, but I really didn't need it."

"What about the broken-hearted thing?" he asks. "Was that real?"

"It actually was. That spring is supposed to ease heartache," she adds, jerking her head toward a small pool. "But as long as the curse was broken, I wasn't going to need it."

He sits down next to her, presses his lips against her shoulder. He still doesn't understand how he could really forget this much love, but maybe he didn't. After a day with her, he already didn't want to let go.

Maybe he's just incapable of not falling for her. He never had a chance.

"I know it's not my fault. But I really am sorry. I keep thinking about how much it would have hurt, if you didn't know who I was."

She cranes her head to around kiss him on the lips. "It was awful," she agrees. "But--I got you back."

"You got me back." He grins, lets his head drop onto her shoulder when she goes back work on the bush. "My hero."

"Your witch," she says, and he laughs.

"That's right," he says. "My witch."


End file.
